The Nightingale Girls - By Donna Douglas Page 0,86
like her more. But she didn’t know how to gossip like the other girls.
There was a long pause. Helen could tell what was going through Amy’s mind long before she said, ever so casually, ‘Does your brother have a girlfriend?’
‘You’d have to ask him that.’
Another pause. ‘Do you think he likes me?’
Amy didn’t look up as she said it, but Helen could feel her anxiety. She suddenly felt sorry for the girl. She wanted to warn her that she was wasting her time, that William would get bored once the chase was over. ‘I’m sure he thinks very highly of you,’ she said tactfully.
Amy went off for her midnight meal shortly afterwards, leaving Helen alone on the ward again. She did a quick round with her torch to check on the patients, trying not to think about the story William had told about the ghostly woman who haunted Hyde. After she’d satisfied herself that the patients were sleeping peacefully – or as peacefully as they could in a ward full of whistles, groans and snoring – she went into the kitchen to slice and butter more bread for the patients’ breakfasts. If she knew William and the other junior doctors, they would have finished off the last lot.
Cockroaches scuttled for cover as she switched on the light. They’d frightened her the first time she saw them, but now she barely noticed them. She heard someone come into the kitchen behind her.
‘That was quick,’ she said, thinking it was Amy.
‘I didn’t know you were expecting me?’ She swung round. William lounged in the doorway.
‘Hollins has gone for her break,’ she told him. ‘You’ll have to come back if you want to see her.’
‘I didn’t come back to see her. I wanted to talk to you.’
‘Oh, yes?’ Helen eyed him warily.
‘Why do you always look so suspicious when I say that?’
‘Because it usually means trouble.’ She slapped his hand away as he reached for a slice of bread.
‘This time I need your advice.’ He perched himself against the stove. ‘Do you know a pro who’s just started on Wren? Blonde, very pretty—’
‘You mean Benedict?’
His dark eyes lit up. ‘You do know her, then?’
‘I share a room with her. Why?’ Helen didn’t need to ask the question. One glance at his face told her all she needed to know. ‘Oh, Will,’ she sighed.
‘What? You don’t even know what I’m going to say yet,’ he protested.
‘I know that look on your face.’
He picked up a teacup and traced the pattern on it with his finger. ‘She seems like a nice girl,’ he said.
‘So are lots of other nurses in this hospital. So is Hollins. Why can’t you go out with her instead?’
‘I’m not interested in Hollins.’
‘Will, you promised.’ Helen put down the knife and looked at him appealingly. ‘After all that business with Peggy Gibson, you promised me you’d never get involved with one of my friends again.’
She saw him wince at the mention of Peggy’s name. ‘This is different,’ he said quietly. ‘Anyway, all that business with Peggy was a long time ago. Can’t you ever let me forget it?’
No one lets me forget it, she thought. She knew he felt guilty about what had happened with Peggy. But he didn’t have to face the other girls’ scorn every day. He didn’t have to endure everyone thinking she was to blame.
She picked up the knife again. ‘Sorry, William, I don’t want to get involved,’ she said.
Just at that moment Amy appeared in the kitchen doorway. ‘What are you doing in here? Why aren’t you—’ She saw William and smiled. ‘Hello, are you looking for me?’ She batted her eyelashes flirtatiously.
‘Who else?’ William gave her a winning smile in return. Helen wrung out a teatowel, put it over the plate of bread and butter and left them to their flirting.
Whatever happened, she didn’t want to be part of it.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
‘LET ME BE clear on this.’ Kathleen Fox struggled to control her rising temper as she looked at the rows of figures in front of her. ‘You are telling me there is no money available for new linen on the wards because you have decided to spend it all on a party?’
She fixed her gaze on Reginald Collins, Treasurer of the Hospital Trustees and the man responsible for drawing up the figures. He squirmed in his seat and examined the papers in front of him.
‘It’s not my doing,’ he huffed. ‘I simply present the facts. The other Trustees . . .’